


Everything I Need

by Blackbeak99



Category: Cursed (TV 2020), Cursed - Thomas Wheeler
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fae Magic, I make canon my bitch, Magic, Nimulot - Freeform, Past Child Abuse, Redemption, Sexual Tension, some fae lore inspired by the Throne of Glass series
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:47:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25742326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blackbeak99/pseuds/Blackbeak99
Summary: Having just finished season 1 of cursed I find myself wondering what would happen if Lancelot and Percival happen to stumble upon where Nimue fell into the water, and I am going from there.
Relationships: Nimue & Squirrel | Percival & The Weeping Monk | Lancelot (Cursed), Nimue/The Weeping Monk | Lancelot (Cursed)
Comments: 54
Kudos: 269





	1. Letter to my younger self

The Ashen Folk, his people were an ancient and wild subspecies of Fae. They had more feral traditions than many other clans, each member of the clan had a mate somewhere out in the world, almost always within the Ashen Folk clans though. The mating bond worked in mysterious ways though, for some it would snap into place the moment the pair would lock eyes, for others one would know before the other and would just wait for them to realize it as well. Any child who had a specific mark at their birth had a mate. Those without were destined to not have one. Lancelot was born without a mark. Even being the clan leader's son couldn’t save him from the teasing at the expense of the other children. That wasn’t the only thing he was teased and condemned over. He had an unnaturally deep connection with The Hidden, constantly whispering guidance in his head and lending him their power. However, when he tapped into the power gifted to him by them it never impressed anyone. It only caused them to state that he was cursed, that he would be the end of them all. His mother never wavered in her love for him, she would always clean the ash off his face and clothes when he would have an outburst of power, and when he mopped over not having a mate she would smile softly at him and say,

“Maybe they just aren’t born yet my love. We can live for a thousand years, if they are not in this lifetime, they could come in the next,”

He always brushed this off, she had to tell him kind things as his mother she wouldn’t do any less. One night when he was ten, burning pain in his back woke him from sleep and he screamed out in agony until his mother and father rushed to his side. When his parents removed his shirt they found angry, glowing marks that looked like an animal swiped at him, but there was no blood anywhere. The following morning they had turned into a silver-blue scar taking up most of his back. From that day forward his father also believed he was cursed. The beatings started shortly after.

A few months later, after a particularly fiery outburst left another village boy severely burned, his father dragged him out into the forest in the middle of the night and bound him to the large tree at the center of the wood. Screaming at him that this is what he deserved, that he was a disgrace of a son, that he deserved to die for being cursed. As his father began to walk away he called out to The Hidden, begging them to save him. Branches unfurled from the tree and undid the binds on his wrists and the one around his neck. The flames that spewed from his hands were unforgiving, devouring his father before the screams could escape his throat. The hidden went silent to him after that. Father Carden and his red paladins found him the next morning, sparing him only due to his ability to track others of his kind. He was already broken when they found him, all they had left to do was mold him. That was how he became the animal, the monster that he was today… or at least had been.


	2. The Lake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As usual, I did not edit, I am far too lazy for that so I apologize for any mistakes.

Lancelot and Percival hadn’t been riding for very long when they came across a lake at the base of a waterfall. His wounds were catching up to him, so they decided to rest there for the night. As soon as he had tied his horse up and started a fire, he heard them. The Hidden. For the first time in little over a decade they were reaching out to him, but why? He closed his eyes and tried to make out the words they spoke.

 _Du Lac_ was whispered into his ear. They wanted him to go to the water. He staggers over to the edge of the lake and sits along the edge, trying to figure out what they wanted. Their urging became stronger, he looked into the water and saw blood staining the surface. That’s when her scent hit him. The Wolf-Blood Witch had a unique scent that stood out to him from the beginning, it always seemed to entice him in a way he couldn’t name. She’s been injured and for some god forsaken reason The Hidden are commanding him to save her. He takes a deep breath and dives under the surface. The water stings his eyes as he searches for her, and nearly at the bottom he finds her. He grabs her limp body and drags it to shore. Oh she was dead alright, that he was sure of, but he would try to bring her back. His people were known as mighty warriors, but you can’t have warriors without equally as skilled healers. He had been born with their gift to heal. The ability to breathe life back into those who had met the Widow. He pulls the arrows out of her quickly. Then he whispers ancient Fae words and gently tilts her head up and presses his mouth against hers, exhaling to let the air stoke the fire within her again. It takes two breathes and she is turning to the side to vomit up the water she had swallowed in her struggle. It doesn’t take long before her feral nature kicks back in and she locks eyes with him, pulls out a blade from her hip and snarls,

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you for what you’ve done,”

He sighs, “well darling, for one you’re far too weak right now to even lift a hand at me. And two… I just saved your life,” and with that he lifts her into his arms and carries her over to the fire. Percival is overjoyed at seeing his Queen and quickly begins to worry over her wounds.

“You have to help her, please!” he begs him.

Lancelot glares at the boy, “I’m getting there, we need to warm her up first. The cold will kill her before those arrow wounds will,” he gives her a look over to assess the damage. One arrow was to the shoulder, the other to the abdomen. Neither one a fatal shot, lucky for her. Her dress and pants however, were soaked. She would freeze to death if she stayed in it. He was not looking forward to this conversation with her. Lancelot tells the boy to go gather some more kindling for the fire and to try and find something to eat. At least that would keep him busy for a short while. He takes a spare shirt out of the saddlebag at his horses side and shrugs off his cloak. He places the two items at her side.

“You need to change out of those clothes, you look like a drowned rat. Personally, I don’t think the look suits you,” he says with a smirk.

Her eyes light up in fury, “You think all this is funny?! I just died, and you’re making jokes?”

“Are you going to change, or am I going to have to do it for you?”

“Oh in your _dreams_ Paladin scum!” she sneers at him.

“I do have a name you know, or have you completely forgotten your manners?”

She sighs and twirls her finger at him to signal him to turn around. He complies and she speaks up “My name is Nimue, yours?”

“Lancelot, my mother and sister would call me Lance though,” he tells her, a bit quiet on the second part though as he thought back to his family. Father Carden had killed his mother in front of him and held his sister captive for all these years. It was how he bent him to his will. He had no idea where his sister was being held, all he knew is that she was still alive, he could sense that.

“That’s a surprisingly noble sounding name for such a monster,”

“I might be a monster, but did you expect me to be named after the devil?”

“That’s your faith not mine,”

He chuckles darkly at that, “It is not my faith either. You and I share that in common,” her silence tells him she is confused, so he takes off his glove and places his hand on the ground, letting the dirt turn his skin green.

“The Hidden told me to save you,”

“And after all you’ve done to slaughter our kind you decide to listen?”

“I thought they had abandoned me. I don’t know why I was so willing to answer their call but I did,” he tells her as the wet dress is suddenly thrown at his side and he turns around to face her again. His clothes dwarf her and the same question he had when he saw the wolves he slaughtered filled his mind again. How did one woman do all of this?

“What do the tear marks mean?” she asks him curiously. It’s the first non-aggressive thing she has said to him so he decides to not push her around.

“It’s the mark of my people, the Ashen Folk. All of us are born with it,” he replies plainly. A gentle silence falls over them before she breaks it, “so are Squirrel and I your prisoners? What are you planning to do with us?”

He shakes his head, “No you’re not prisoners, I helped Percival escape, almost lost my own life doing it. Besides you know if you were a prisoner I would have handed you over to Father Carden by now,”

“Father Carden is dead,” she responds.

He goes numb, “what?!”

“I cut his head off using the sword, it was his life or mine,”

Relief fills his body at the news of his tormentors death, and he can’t help but let out a strangled laugh, “he had it coming for him. Always thought it would be by my hand though,” he says with a shrug.

“I thought you were his loyal pet?”

“I wasn’t loyal to him the way your people are loyal to you. I was ten years old when he found me, eventually it just became easier to do as he said. He has my sister hidden away somewhere too, as long as I followed his orders he would keep her alive. I did what I had to,”

“You’re wrong, you didn’t have to _kill_ your own kind. Can you even comprehend how fucked up the things you did are?”

He growls and lifts the back of his shirt up to her, “You think I didn’t fight it?! Trust me, I hate myself more than you ever could, and I’ll have at least a thousand years to regret what I’ve done,” he says. He looks over his shoulder to gage her reaction and is surprised to see her gently reaching her hand out to ghost her fingers over the scars, old and new. She seems to focus on the one scar that wasn’t dealt by the Father.

“The people in my clan said I was cursed when that appeared. The pain was so back it woke me up from my sleep, there was never any blood, just the scar. Maybe they were right in thinking that,”

“It’s impossible, but I have the same one. Some demon lured me out to the forest and attacked me, leaving the scars. I killed it by calling out to The Hidden. Everyone in my village also said I was cursed because of it. I don’t know how you have this,” she says almost bewildered. His eyes widen in surprise but he composes himself before she can notice. As her finger runs over the scar a shiver runs through him, and it feels like a sudden jolt of electricity goes through him. And in that moment he knew. Nimue was his mate, and she had absolutely no clue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters back to back, even I am surprised with myself given my track record of extreme writer's block. Hope you all enjoy, I'm trying to give Lancelot some more personality out of the gate so he isn't so robotic.


	3. Are you scared of yourself?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Again no editing because I am lazy and I do this for fun. Please feel free to point out any mistakes, because I will want to fix them if they are found :)

Lancelot brings himself out of his thoughts and pulls his shirt back down and turns to face Nimue.

“You always mention how your mother was killed in the attack on your village, but what about your father?” he asks her in an attempt to change the subject. She is quiet for a moment, as if she was debating telling him the truth or not before she sighs and says,

“My father is Merlin the magician,” he lets out an amused huff, “so you mean to tell me that you have access to pure, raw magic, and all you have done is kill some Paladins with tree branches?”

“What’s the difference of raw magic?” she asks him. He rolls his eyes, how could the last of the Fae chosen such a clueless girl to be their queen? She had a lot to learn before she joined them again, hopefully, she would be willing to learn from him.

“I would assume that you inherited Merlin’s raw magic, which means that you can manipulate whatever you wanted if you learned how. You could conjure a storm and harness the lightning to use against your enemies, create fire in the palm of your hand and burn villages to the ground if you so desired! Clearly you feel most comfortable with earth-based magic, for me I prefer fire. You most likely will have an extended life, as I do. Merlin is more similar to my race of Fae and we live for at least a thousand years, maybe more. Your raw magic must be why The Hidden are so interested in you, that was always the reason for their interest in me,” he informs her.

“How do you have raw magic?”

“It runs in my bloodline, it’s why my family led our clan,”

“So you’re a prince?”

He lets out a laugh, “Yeah, I guess you could call me that. That was my title back then, I guess I would be king now, but I hardly think I deserve the title,”

“No, no you don’t” she sneers. She moves to position herself closer to the fire and winces in pain. Lancelot realizes that her wounds are still open. He could sew up the wound to close it, or he could try to use his fire magic to heal the wound. His mother had taught him how to create a special type of flame that could heal wounds as long as they weren’t fatal.

“I could heal you, if you want,” he offers to her. She hesitates for a moment before nodding her head, the pain must outweigh her distrust of him. He moves so he is next to her, careful not to aggravate his own wounds that he would need to tend to after.

“I just need to move the shirt out of the way so I can heal each wound, don’t worry the flames won’t hurt in any way,” he says as he holds his hand out palm up, and closes his eyes in concentration. He tunnels down into the well of magic inside him, and ignites the palm of his hand in a green flame. Nimue’s eyes open in disbelief, “Is that fae fire?”

“Any fire I create is technically fae fire,” he says with a hint of a smirk on his face. She rolls her eyes at him before he continues, “but no, this isn’t the fae fire you’re thinking of, that would melt the skin off your bones if you were this close,”. He takes his free hand and gently moves the collar of her, well his, shirt out of the way and brings his other hand close to her shoulder. The flames nearly leap out of his hand, almost sensing the wound and settles over the torn flesh until it closes up and there isn’t even a mark. At that point the flame fizzles out, having done its job. He repeats the process with her second wound and pulls back away from her before he begins to unbutton his own shirt.

“What are you doing?” she asks him somewhat aggressively.

“Don’t worry darling, this isn’t for your enjoyment. I happen to have my own stab wounds to tend to, but since I’m a gentleman I took care of you first. However, you’re more than welcome to stare all you want, I’m sure you’re little man-blood boy toy wouldn’t mind if you just looked,” he says with a shrug before deciding to ignore whatever tantrum that line sent her into. The relief when the flames touch his skin is immediate, he must have been worse off than he originally thought. The trinity were not an easy fight, he would be dead right now if it weren’t for Percival. The boy was braver than he ever was at his age, maybe even braver than he was now. He often justified letting himself be used as a weapon by the church by saying that he was just a boy at the time, but Percival was just as old as he was and he was more than willing to lose his life fighting for his people. He could learn a lot from the boy, and hoped he could teach him a thing or two himself.

Once his wounds were healed there was one last part of him he needed to fix. He held the flame up to the back of his head and felt as it consumed the cross that was burned into the back of his head and hair quickly filled in the bald spot. He might have to carry the scars on his back for the rest of his existence, but at least that horrible brand, the symbol of their ownership over him would no longer exist. He finally lets the healing flame extinguish himself and feels energy pulsing throughout his body. After years of sitting dormant and being kept in a chokehold, his magic was freely flowing through him now. Lancelot feels even more disgust towards himself. How could he possibly waste such a gift? If the church’s god was real, wouldn’t he also consider it to be one, and not the curse of demons? He glances over a Nimue and watches her lost in her thoughts like he was. She was the queen their people had chosen, so he made a vow to himself that he would teach her to be strong for them, and to protect her. Now that the bond had snapped into place for him, it would continue to get harder for him to pretend that he hated her. It would go against everything his brain and body were telling him to keep up that appearance. He hoped he could show her his true self while they traveled together, however long that may be.

He is brought out of his head when Percival reappears with more branches for the fire, and two rabbit carcasses. He gives the boy a genuine smile, which was rare for him.

“You’re pretty resourceful aren’t you Percival?” he says to the boy as he reaches to take the rabbits from him as he puts the branches into the fire.

“That’s _Sir_ Percival to you, or Sir Squirrel! Gawain knighted me before they captured me,” he states while puffing out his chest. Nimue has a sad look on her face, which makes Lancelot guess that the Green Knights fate must have been grim. So he decides to acknowledge the boy on her behalf.

“My apologies Sir Percival. I guess that means you could be one of Queen Nimue’s blood sworn!” He suggests to the boy, and enjoys how his face lights up and he whirls around to face the young queen.

“Nimue, is Lancelot right? Could I be your blood sworn, it is the tradition of a Fae king or queen to at least have one after they are crowned!” the words pour out of Percival’s mouth and Nimue gives Lancelot a look as if to say “ _Thanks for that one”_.

“I’m not sure if my crowning counts, there was no ceremony for it, because _someone_ came and snuffed us out of our safe haven,” she says, growling out the word someone, as it was clearly meant for him. Oh, he would make her pay for that one, just when they seemed to be somewhat getting along.

“No it shouldn’t matter, you were chosen by the people so it is your right to have one or more blood sworn!” he raises his eyebrows at her after he says this to make his point across to her that he could easily play this game. He can sense Percival’s excitement growing, emboldened by the words Lancelot says.

“How about once you’re a bit older, ok Squirrel? I’ll make sure to save a spot for you,” she tells him and while his face falls a bit, at least he has something to look forward to in the coming years… if they make it that long.

“You should let someone take the oath, it’s good protection, especially when they are bound by blood to follow your commands,”

“And who do you suggest I offer it to. You?”

“Would it make you trust me?”

She thinks for a moment, “Potentially if you did then I would know you wouldn’t kill me,”

“If I wanted to kill you, I would have already, not sure how many times I have to tell you that,”

“Mmmmm so comforting, you must make all the women swoon when you talk like that,”

“You’re ridiculous, you remember I was basically raised by the Roman church right? There were no ladies for me to charm. Seriously though, think about it. I would be willing to do it. If I have to fight for someone now that I’m not with the Paladins, I want to fight for you,” he says his tone growing soft at the end.

“Alright, I’ll consider it,” she responds and offers him a hint of a smile. He takes that as a victory. Squirrel and Nimue begin to talk and catch up, so Lancelot quietly skins and begins to roast the rabbits to not disturb them. After they eat their simple meal, he offers to take watch for the night. Nimue doesn’t argue with him on that, probably due to sheer exhaustion and she settles in before quickly drifting to sleep. Percival sits next to him at his spot leaning up against a large tree trunk, rambling about how he would help him keep watch to protect Nimue since after all, he did save his life so how useful could Lancelot really be? Only a few minutes pass before squirrel is asleep, nestled up against him, the boy's head resting on his chest. Emotion swells in Lancelot’s chest at the gesture. He had helped take this boy’s family away from him, and now, he was becoming like family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am continuing to make up the magic system using ideas from other novels I have read. I just picked up the novel version of Cursed so I plan on reading that this weekend to hopefully fill in gaps that the show may have had. Hope you all enjoy! Out of curiosity what is everyone's opinion on the oxford comma? All my different editing software hate it with a passion, but I always use it out of habit.


	4. Power Over Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Exploring Nimue's POV in this chapter, hopefully you enjoy!

_I wanna be king in your story_

_I wanna know who you are_

_I want your heart to be for me_

_Oh I_

_Want you to sing to me softly_

_'Cause then I'm outrunning the dark_

_That's all that love ever taught me_

_Oh I_

_Call and I'll rush out_

_All out of breath now_

_You got that power over me_

_-Power Over Me: Dermot Kennedy_

**Nimue**

Nimue tried her best to stay awake since she was still wary of the weeping monk’s intentions, but the moment she lied down near the fire she could feel the sleep heavy in her eyes. She wrapped the mysterious monk’s cloak tighter around her body and was enveloped by the scent of smoky cedar, sandalwood, and a hint of vanilla. It was his scent, and for some reason, she felt instantly comforted by it. It matched his manly and cryptic nature well. She fell asleep a few moments later to the sound of Squirrel and the monk quietly talking.

Her sleep was anything but peaceful. She kept reliving the moment upon the bridge over and over again except it was like she was watching it from an unknown perspective. Every time it would restart when she let the darkness underwater claim her. She woke with a start, gasping for breath. Once she got her bearings, she noticed the monk watching her from across the fire with his icy blue eyes, “I get nightmares too, wish I could tell you it gets easier but it doesn’t,” he says to her.

“I can take watch now, you get some rest,” she says to him. He doesn’t argue with her and fell fast asleep in the time it took her to add some more kindling to the fire. She takes up watch leaning against a tree opposite of her two companions. The monk had fallen asleep with his head leaning slightly against the top of Squirrel’s, with the boy nested against the warrior’s chest. The sight made her warm to Lancelot slightly, he must have some kind of morals if he risked his life to rescue Squirrel… right? Now that he couldn’t judge her every movement, she took the time to study him. While sleeping the man’s brows were no longer furrowed with constant worry and overthinking. He looked peaceful… and actually quite handsome with his chiseled jaw and softly curled hair tied up in a neat bun. It wasn’t wrong of her to admire his looks with all the horrible deeds he had done, was it? She could easily separate the two things. What she was disgusted with herself for was how his voice made her feel. Whenever he called her darling using that gruff, gravelly tone of his always made a blush creep onto her cheeks and a warmth to spread through her body. Gods what was wrong with her? Arthur had made her feel that way when she was intimate with him, but his words alone could never ignite that kind of spark within her. The other thing that puzzled her was the scar on his back that matched hers from when she was attacked by that demon bear as a child. His story as to how he got the mark was equally as confusing. The scar just burned itself into his skin around the time when she would have actually received it, almost like the two of them were linked. After all, the Hidden _had_ led him to save her, would it really be that far of a leap to assume that somehow she was tied to him in some way that was unknown to her for now? She at least had to get used to his presence, he wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon, and it seemed he was determined to protect her on their journey to rejoin the Fae. Worry clouded her mind as she wondered if Arthur, Pym, and the rest of her people had safely made it onto the ships King Uther had sent. He may have followed through on his word, but there were so many other forces at play… and she had very little experience dealing with these diplomatic snakes who only cared about how much power they possessed. She looks over at Lancelot again, he had been a prince when he was younger. Maybe his knowledge of political affairs hadn’t been completed tainted by the church and he could help her learn a few tricks for the next time she inevitably encounters one of the many “kings” running around.

She spends the next few hours lost in her thoughts, mostly trying to make up her mind on Lancelot’s offer to take the blood oath from her. While her disdain and anger towards him was immense, she couldn’t argue with the fact that he would be the most powerful ally, besides her father of course, that she would have. Making him bound to her by the oath would be invaluable to her people’s survival, and maybe it could help him on the path to redemption that he claims to seek. She gets up and crosses the short distance to where the two boys are sleeping, and she gently shakes them awake. The monk is awake instantly like he hadn’t been asleep the entire time. Squirrel is a bit harder to rouse, but eventually, he is up and already begins questioning what they would do today. She laughs a bit at how eager the young boy always was before turning to look at Lancelot.

“I’ve thought about your offer,” she starts,

“And?” he asks,

“Gods you didn’t even let me finish my sentence! It’s like you’re _trying_ to get under my skin! Anyway, I’ve decided to offer the blood oath to you, as much as it pains me, you are to be the first official member of my court” she says. The shocked look that crosses his face for a moment is priceless, even if it only lasts a second. This time it was her catching him off guard.

“Right now? You need a witness,” he says

“Squirrel can witness and attest to its truth. Right Squirrel?” she says and directs the second half of her sentence at Squirrel who was now paying full attention to her and nods his head quickly in agreement. The monk seems to accept this and looks at her, waiting for her to begin. Well, _shit_ she didn’t really think this through too much, she had no idea what words had to be spoken or if she was supposed to speak in the Old Fae Language. Gods she didn’t even know the old language. Her nerves must have shown because she feels a pair of callused hands wrap around her own,

“You don’t need any fancy phrases or words for this, just speak from your heart about how you want me to serve,” he tells her. She gives him a nod and then gently slips her hands out from his. He kneels before her and pushes back the sleeve of the large tunic of his that she wore. She takes the dagger out from her boot and holds it over her now exposed wrist.

“Do you have a surname?”

“It’s Courtland, Lancelot Courtland,” he responds.

“Lancelot Courtland, do you promise to serve in my court and protect the Fae people from this day until the day you die?” she asks.

“I do. From now until the darkness claims me. I will follow you, to whatever end,” he responds, looking up at her as if she was some kind of goddess. She draws the dagger across her wrist, leaving a shallow cut. Lancelot takes her wrist in his hands and brings it up to his lips. He takes two pulls of blood from her and she can feel some sort of cord tying them together, the blood oath cementing a permanent bond between the two. He lifts his head from her wrist, her blood coating his lips and he smiles softly at her.

“You are my savior, Nimue. Whether it’s the Hidden or God that led me to you, I am grateful,” he whispers quietly. So quietly that she almost couldn’t make out the words, she wasn’t even sure he meant for her to hear. He quickly lights a healing flame in his hand and ghosts it over the slice on her wrist, and she watches in awe as the skin knits itself back together. He lets it leave a scar, however, probably as proof that the oath took place. Without saying a word he stands up and walks over to ready his horse for their travels. Squirrel smiles at Nimue, seemingly happy that he was allowed to be “part” of the ritual in some way.

“So what’s our next step? I need to get to the desert kingdom’s, that is where the Fae are headed,”

“Darling, you are too many steps ahead of what we need to do. First, we need to go to the nearest town or village and see if they have any good horses to sell us. Kelpie here can’t carry the three of us at once, that would be cruel to her!”

“You named your horse Kelpie?” she asked with an amused smile.

“What’s wrong with that?”

“I’m just surprised Father Carden let you name her after a folk tale that only the Fae believe in, how did you get away with that?”

“I never said that the Father knew what I called her. I broke her myself when she was a filly, I felt she deserved a name than to just be used by me. She’s taken care of me, so I take care of her,” he said to her with a shrug. She shook her head in disbelief, there certainly was more to the monk then she had previously thought.

“You and Squirrel can ride her, I’ll walk alongside you three,”

She doesn’t argue with him on that, it wouldn’t be worth it. She mounts the large black mare and after she is seated in the saddle she hoists Squirrel up to sit in front of her.

“Wait a moment, do you plan on stealing a horse, we have no gold or silver to purchase anything with,” she asks him. He gives her a smug smirk that she wishes she could slap off his face.

“Thank God that your trusted court member stole a saddlebag full of gold from the Paladins, should be enough to get us to your people and provide for them for a fair amount of time after that. You should give me more credit, I would never flee from somewhere without taking coin with me, you should take notes,” he says his tone dripping with sarcasm. It irks her just enough that she reaches down and smacks him on the back of his head. A hearty laugh fills the air and the monk actually smiles at her. She can’t help but smile back at him in return, damn him for that. Damn him to hell.

**Lancelot**

Lancelot gently takes the reins in his hands and begins to walk them toward the nearest town, Whitehaven. From there he planned to travel with his new companions to the port town of Blackpool. Blackpool hadn’t been raided by the Red Paladins yet, though it was on their list of cities to “cleanse”. Hopefully, they could secure passage to the desert kingdoms there. He hadn’t mentioned it to Nimue yet, but his family had come from the desert kingdoms, he was pretty uneasy about returning. As far as he knew, none of the Ashen Folk had survived, but many of the humans in those kingdoms especially the royalty knew him well. He was uneasy about returning to the home he had abandoned, maybe he could find solace in passing through the ruins of his old town, or at least be able to atone for his sins. He glances over his shoulder at Squirrel and Nimue and feels comfort in his new role as their protector. He would lay down his life before anything or anyone could get within five feet of harming them, that he swore to God and the Hidden on. He had a soft spot for Percival, he wanted to be a good figure for him to look up to like the Green Knight had been. Nimue would be harder to win over than the boy had been, but she was his mate that he was sure of, so sooner or later she would warm up to him… God willing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm starting to get a better idea on where I want this story to go, still unsure as to how many chapters I will write, but the plot is taking a clearer shape each day that I think and work on it. I really hope you all continue to like the story!


	5. The Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yet again no editing as my caffeine-fueled brain refuses to reread anything.

_"My fire is starved of oxygen_

_A flicker in the howling wind_

_Beware the night is closing in_

_And if I fall asleep, the shadows win_

_Well the darkness came to take my faith_

_It tried to steal my words to pray_

_My love came down like holy rain_

_And she became my god that day"_

_-The Dark by SYML_

**Lancelot**

They had been walking for about two hours and probably had at least five or six more to go at the pace they were forced to travel at due to him walking alongside his horse. He wanted nothing more than to speed up, to let Nimue and Percival gallop along on Kelpie, but they would be too far ahead of him even if he ran at the unnatural speed his Fae body allowed he still wouldn’t be able to keep up with a fresh horse. Technically he could shift into his animal form, but he hadn’t done that since he was ten, could barely remember how to shift anymore. That last part was a lie, ever since he used his magic the day before it had been coursing through him, that feral part of him _begging_ to be freed for the first time in over a decade. As if the Hidden could sense his desire to shift, their whispers began in his ears, encouraging him. He pulls on Kelpie’s reins, and looks at the two sitting on her back while placing his twin blades on his horse's saddle.

“Walk ahead for a moment, I need to try something,” he says. He can nearly hear the questions from Nimue pouring from her head into his through their new bond. _Just trust me_ he thinks and she must gotten the message because the sensation leaves his mind. Nimue nudges the horse back into a languid walk as he stands still in the road. He focuses on the words the Hidden say to him in the old language and he reaches into the power within himself, searching for the primal form hidden there. A wicked grin appeared on his face when he found the creature. He grabbed onto that image and dragged it up to the surface, with a flash of light he realized he had properly shifted.

The sudden change was jarring, different scents flooded his nose in a wave and he could hear miles away. When he focused he could clearly hear the conversation between Nimue and Percival. The dull sight was as disappointing as he remembered, but that’s why the other senses were better, who needed all those colors anyway? Once he felt reacquainted with the form he sat back on his haunches and howled.

**Nimue**

At the sound of a wolf’s howl, Nimue whipped her head around to see what had happened to Lancelot. To her shock, the monk’s two-legged form was replaced by a much larger than normal wolf with black fur, the red tear markings still staining its fur. She watched as the wolf stood back up and loped to catch up to them before slowing down to a trot alongside them. She had known many powerful Fae had been capable of shifting into an animal form, but she had never witnessed it firsthand. Kelpie let out a snort of unease but didn’t shy away from the wolf. She must have been able to sense it was still Lancelot.

“Didn’t know you could do that,” she says to him.

“ _Wasn’t so sure I could anymore,”_ he says to her through their newly formed bond, being able to willingly share thoughts with each other certainly had its perks already.

“CAN I RIDE HIM THE REST OF THE WAY?!” she hears Squirrel yell from in front of her. Lancelot lets out a huff of air in what must have been a laugh and shakes his head before he takes off in a sprint.

“ _Think you can keep up darling?”_ enters into her mind. She smiles and rolls her eyes “ _You’re on you overgrown dog, and for gods sake stop calling me darling!”_ she thinks back before kicking Kelpie into a gallop.

**Lancelot**

They raced almost the entire way to town, only taking a few stops to rest and drink water. Once they reached the outskirts of Whitehaven he took a moment to shift back to his regular form and readjusted his tunic and pants into place before taking Kelpie’s reins back into his hands and leading them into town.

“We should find the inn and rent some rooms before going to look for a new horse, we will need a place to rest for the night,” He says as he looks up at Nimue and Percival. They had cut their travel time nearly in half, so it was only late afternoon by the time they reached the town.

“Alright, you might want to consider covering up the mark though. You’re reputation proceeds you in any area where Fae are being protected,” she responds to him. Well shit. He had forgotten about that. He reaches down, scrapping up a handful of dirt, and pours a bit of water into his palm before smearing the muddy mixture underneath his eyes. He looks back to Nimue,

“Better?”

“Hmm well now you look like a dirty wanderer instead of a murderous one so I would say it is a massive improvement over your usual look!” she responds to him. He decides to ignore her snarky tone, after all, he deserves it. He walks the group up to the inn and hands Kelpie to the stable hand outside. He flips a gold coin into the air for the man to catch,

“You look after her as if she were your own, you hear me?” he says in a low voice. The man nods in understanding, letting Lancelot grab his weapons and the saddlebag full of coin off the horse before leading her away to the stables for the night. He walks into the inn with Nimue and Percival, he leans in close to Nimue “try your very best to hold back your retorts and quips while I speak, we don’t need them becoming suspicious. I have no idea if the red paladins have connections here yet or not,” he whispers to her. She softly nods to him in understanding. As they walk up to the innkeeper, Lancelot puts one arm around Nimue’s waist, and his other hand on Percival’s shoulder. The woman smiles at the sight of them,

“How can I help you three?”

“You see, we just escaped the sack of Gramaire, barely made it out with our _lives._ We have been traveling for a long time and could use a room or two if you have them to spare. My wife and our boy here need a place to rest, they are devastated by losing our home,” he says to her, Squirrel catches on to the ruse quickly and whips up a few tears that gently fall down his cheeks. Damn this kid was crafty, and Lancelot loved it. He can _feel_ Nimue’s rage course through their bond, she clearly wasn’t happy with his narrative. However, it seems to have worked on the old innkeeper who held her hand against her chest in sympathy for them.

“You poor things! We have had a few roll in who have fled Gramaire so we only have one room left. You and your wife can stay there, your boy can sleep in the same room as my grandchildren, there is an extra bed, and I’m sure they will love meeting a new friend,” she offers to them.

“You are far too kind m’lady, we have coin to spare what do we owe you?” he asks with a smile. The woman waves her hand at him “You just lost your homes, it wouldn’t feel right to me,”

Lancelot shakes his head at this, truly kind people were far and few in this world, he couldn’t allow her to wave their few. He takes out a few gold coins and throws in a couple of silver and places them on the counter in front of her, “please, I insist,” he says. Her mouth falls open at the small pile of coin and she can’t seem to resist the temptation of what would probably be a few weeks earnings in one go as she carefully scoops them up. She hands him the key to the one remaining room and leads Percival off to her grandchildren. The boy seems happy enough that he gets to interact with other kids his age and he gives a wave to Lancelot and Nimue before leaving them in the dust.

He turns to Nimue, “well my dear wife, seems as though it’s just us left,” he says with a smirk. She growls, taking him by the hand and forcefully leading him to their room. She takes the key from him and fumbles with it in her anger before opening the door and shoving him inside. She shuts the door behind her and pushes him up against the nearest wall, her dagger now in hand and suddenly at his throat.

“If you _ever_ call me your wife again,” she sneers

“You’ll what? Kill me? If I didn’t care so much about getting you to your people I would say you would be doing us both a favor,” he growls back.

“Oh no much worse than that. You seem to want to die so badly that I would command you to keep yourself alive for as long as possible, force you to wallow around for a thousand years or more,” she retorts. She was a whole new kind of torture, what on earth had he gotten himself into? He takes a deep breath to help calm him down.

“I only said you were my wife because I highly doubt she would have rented the one room left to us if I hadn’t. I think I correctly guessed that she follows the doctrines of the church, so if we weren’t married we wouldn’t be allowed to stay,” he explains. She brings the dagger away from his throat, a thin line of blood left in its wake.

“You could have at least told me your plan before executing it. Then I could have at least pretended to love you,” she says with a shrug. He winces a bit at the last sentence, which definitely stung a little bit. Now that she was no longer threatening his life he takes a moment to look around the room. It was simple but had finer furniture that he had stayed in for as long as he could remember. The large bed seemed to have an actual mattress instead of being a cot or bedroll. Wait a minute… there was only the one bed. Well of course there was only one, why would there be more. Lancelot lets out a sigh, looks like he wouldn’t get to enjoy the comforts of it after all. He moves across the room and lights the fireplace using his magic. He sits down in front of it, quietly taking in the crackling sounds and watching the embers float up the chimney. He almost doesn’t notice her presence beside him as she sits next to him.

“Look, I’m sorry that I’ve been so harsh on you. It isn’t easy to suddenly trust the person you’ve spent months running from,”

“It’s alright. Eh not exactly, you _have_ been living up to the other nickname they call you, the wolf blood bitch queen,” he starts, her eyes widening a bit at hearing the new name but she stays silent, “but I’ve been quite the disgrace to our people, so I’m willing to let it slide,” he finishes. She laughs slightly at that and looks at him. She gives him a soft smile and gods he thinks his heart might have stopped, she was absolutely stunning. He returns a smile before she speaks again.

“You know more about me and my people than I do about you. I want to try and understand you, but you can’t be so broody and closed off about your past,”

“Well, once upon a time, in the very desert kingdoms we seek to go to, there was a young cursed Fae boy who loved his people very much…”

**Nimue**

Lancelot talked for what must have been hours but felt like minutes. He told her of his clan, their traditions, their strengths, the people who lived there, and everything that made the Ashen Folk who they were. He told her about his earliest memories and childhood, the good memories he had. Then he went into how everyone believed he was cursed when he was ten. The things that he had gone through were so similar to her own experience growing up. Her heart ached for him as he told her about his father’s abuse and attempt on his life and subsequently murdering the man in pure rage. He spoke softer when he told her about his mother and sister. How they had always loved him even when he didn’t deserve it. He finished his story on the moment his mother was killed in front of him by Father Cardin. Red tears stained his mark anew as they rolled down his cheeks.

She couldn’t help it, she leans over and gently wipes the tears from his face, letting her hand linger against his cheek. He leans into her touch and brings his own hand up to hold hers in place as if he had craved her touch all his life. She didn’t speak. For once couldn’t find the words to say to him, so she just held her hand in place until his tears stopped. He brings his hand back to his lap, letting her pull hers back. Those icy blue eyes of his stare at her with gratitude and another emotion she knows but is too afraid to name.

“Thank you for listening,” he whispers to her and she feels like her heart might break for him all over again. It’s late and they are both physically and emotionally exhausted. She takes off his cloak, still wearing his shirt as a makeshift dress, and gets into the bed. He refuses when she insists he grow up and just lie on the other side of the bed, because damnit it was big enough for the both of them and they needed the sleep. He only relents when she threatens to use the blood oath to command him to sleep in the bed, shedding off his shirt while mumbling something about “ _how come he had to be the one to grow up when she was the one to threaten using the blood oath for such a childish reason,”_. The monk is asleep almost the second his head hits the down pillow, and he snores softly as Nimue watches him. She thinks back on his story. Had no one ever taken the time to show him a shred of care? Could she have gone down a path similar to his had things been just a tiny bit different? These were questions she didn’t know the answer to, but she did know one thing. She did _not_ hate Lancelot, in fact… it was starting to feel quite the opposite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there was only ONE bed. Do I slightly hate myself for the cliche? Yes, yes I do, but I couldn't resist. I hope you all enjoy, I'm having a lot of fun getting more comfortable writing these two!:)


	6. Broken

_"If you see the boy I used to be_

_Could you tell him that I'd like to find him_

_And if you see the shell that's left of me_

_Could you spare him a little kindness_

_'Cause I've been high and I've been low_

_I've spent a thousand nights alone, tryna hold on tight_

_And feelings come but they won't go_

_Please won't someone take me home before I lose my mind_

_Am I broken?_

_Am I flawed?_

_Do I deserve a shred of worth or am I_

_Just another fake, fucked up lost cause?_

_And am I human?_

_Or am I something else?_

_'Cause I'm so scared and there's no one there_

_To save me from the nightmare that I call myself"_

_-Broken by Anson Seabra_

**Lancelot**

Lancelot’s eyes opened to a calm meadow in the middle of a lush forest. Where was Nimue? Why wasn’t he in the inn where he had fallen asleep? He hears the sound of a female voice singing a tune that was achingly familiar, from a different lifetime ago. He turns his head to find a woman picking flowers in the center of the meadow, by a large weeping willow tree. He can’t help but walk towards her, drawn in by the sound of her gentle voice. He was only a few paces away when he recognized the figure in front of him.

“Mother?” he calls out, his voice cracking. She looks at him and beams at him before running towards him. His arms catch her in an embrace as hers wrap around his body, her grip like an iron vice. She pulls away from him and holds his face in her hands.

“Oh my boy, my sweet boy what happened to you?” she asks as if she could see the years of torture and pain in his eyes.

“Don’t you already know?”

“I do,”

“Is this real?” he whispers knowing that it was most likely just a dream.

“This is real as you are Lancelot. I’ve been trying to reach you in your dreams for years, but you shut yourself off from the Hidden,”

“They never did _anything_ to help me,” he tells her anger creeping into his tone. His mother drops her hands from his face and sits down in the grass, tugging him down with her.

“You needed to go down the path you took to become the man you are meant to be,”

“What, a monster? Our people call me Kinslayer, they fear me. The Hidden never tried to help me get away from them, they let me slaughter hundreds of our kind. How can you even still wish to see me?”

“Shhh stop that Lance, you’re my son and I will never stop loving you. I know who you are at your core, you have always had a good and noble heart. We all have moments of letting the darkness led us, but you are already trying to change your path. The boy I raised is still in there,” she tells him as tears fall down his face. He didn’t deserve her unconditional love, her forgiveness, but she gave it to him anyway.

“You don’t always have to be alone, to shoulder these burdens you put on yourself,” she adds.

“I’m not sure if anyone would have me, especially after what I’ve done,”

“What about the girl you’re with the Fae queen?” she asks with a suggestive brow raise

“Nimue? Um… I’m not sure about that, sh--- wait a minute. You already know she is my mate don’t you?”

“One of the only perks of being dead my love, you get to be all-knowing,” she responds. He lets out a laugh, his mother always did try to find humor in the worst of situations.

“Show her your true self, you do not need to be defined by your past deeds. You are a king by blood Lancelot, _be_ a king!”

“I don’t think it’s that simple,”

“Have I ever been wrong in my advice before?” she asks him. He is pretty sure it was a rhetorical question but he shakes his head in response.

“Right then, if you are going to help this queen of the Fae stay alive to rule over her people you need to teach her how to wield her magic properly. She has only scratched the surface of her power. So have you for that matter, but you are still better equipped than her. Teach her through our ways and our traditions, keep our culture alive,”

He gives her a nod, “I will, I promise mother. I won’t let our people down anymore,”

“Good, it would break my heart to see you lose your faith in our beliefs again,” suddenly her head turns around toward some unknown source, some sound he can’t hear, “somebody else wishes to speak to you, I have to go now. I will see you again soon my love,” she says and wraps her arms around him again in a hug he had been missing for too long.

“I love you mom,” he chokes out as he returns her embrace, closing his eyes to savor the moment. When he opens them she is gone. The Green Knight now stands in front of him.

“I never thought I would see the day where the Weeping Monk was well… weeping,” the man tells him.

“So I see being dead hasn’t made you any less of a prick, has it?” he asks and the knight shrugs in response. Lancelot sighs, “how did you know to put your faith in me, that I would turn?”

“Conflict seemed to cloud your mind at the time, maybe I believed that my keeping your secret would ultimately help me. Was too late for me, but it seems to have saved Percival… and Nimue,”

“Gawain,” he starts, using the knights real name for the first time, “I’m sorry for not getting my shit together in time to save you. And for all the other things I’ve done,”

“You’re already forgiven Brother,” he replies with a smile on his face. Lancelot returns the gesture and holds his hand out to shake and lets out a breath of relief when the man gladly does.

“Promise me one thing?” he asks and Lancelot nods his head before Gawain continues, “I know what Nimue is to you, that you are her mate. Take care of her okay? Don’t do anything to break her heart,”

“I don’t think I could even if the Hidden commanded it,”

“Good, cause if you did I would have to haunt you,” Gawain says and both men let out a hearty laugh. The same force seems to call to Gawain in the moment, “tell Nimue that I’ll always be with her.” Lancelot nods and watches as the knight fades away into leaves that float away on the breeze. He closes his eyes and returns to his sleep.

**Nimue**

She didn’t have any nightmares that night and got the best sleep she had in a long time. She knows she is awake but she feels so warm and safe that she isn’t quite ready to face the day ahead of her yet. She can hear Lancelot’s gentle breathing close to her. Much closer than it had been when she had fallen asleep last night. She blinks her eyes open to find his forehead nearly pressed against hers and that their hands had intertwined themselves while they slept. She panicked for a moment and scooted her body farther away, but didn’t untangled their hands, she wasn’t sure how to without waking the monk. He seemed to be a light sleeper anyway, she didn’t want to ruin his rest. His hand feels callused and strong, much like Arthur’s except Lancelot’s was more honed. The warrior’s blades were clearly a deadly extension of his arm, his hand felt like it was perfectly molded to the pommel of his sword from endless hours of practice. Arthur’s were not the same, he didn’t have the training or the patience for that. She notices how dwarfed her hand looks interlocked with his and her mind can’t help but wander to what his hands might feel like elsewhere.

Gods Nimue, NO, do not think like that!! The man spends one night opening up to her and suddenly she’s daydreaming about what his hands could do. She may be on the path to forgiving him, but she couldn’t think about him like that, not anymore. When she looks back at him she is greeted by his piercing blue eyes staring back at her. He gives her a slight smile in his sleep ridden stupor.

“Mornin’ darling,” he says to her, voice especially deep and gravelly due to just waking up. ANDDD of course her thoughts drift again as a blush creeps on to her face, what is _wrong_ with her right now. He rises out of bed, wordlessly pulling his hand out from hers, thank the gods he didn’t comment on it, she couldn’t handle a battle of wits with him right now. She stares at the scars along his muscled back as he bends down to retrieve his shirt and put it back on.

“Why didn’t you heal those scars?” she asks curiously. He turns to face her as he thumbs the buttons closed up the length of the shirt.

“Each one of those is a reminder of when I defied Father Cardin and the church. I endured,” then he shrugs, “maybe I’m not such a fucked up monster after all,” he adds with a hint of a smirk.

“Hmmm maybe not, I have hope for you. Not much, but some,” she jokes back at him. He seems different this morning… lighter. A little less broken then he had been the night before when he shared his past with her.

“What gives, you’re in way too good a mood compared to your usual, I’m getting worried you’ve been possessed,”

He chuckles and shakes his head at her, “are you always this dramatic?”, he doesn’t give her a chance to answer before adding, “The hidden allowed me to speak with my mother last night, she helped me start to come to terms with myself. I saw your Green Knight as well, he says he will always be with you,” tears threaten to fill her eyes, she hadn’t even had a chance to grieve his death yet, but hearing that made her heart feel less heavy at his loss.

“Thank you, you could have kept that to yourself but you have no idea how much I needed to hear that,”

“Of course, there isn’t anything I wouldn’t share with you,” he confesses and by looking into his eyes she knows it is the raw truth. They were at such an odd place with each other. Clearly no longer enemies, but friend didn’t seem to fit either, it was too… plain to define them. Whatever it was, whatever they were, she was curious to see what path they would end up going down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are finally starting to move out of the enemy's territory, YAY! I have zero patience so the fact that I haven't had them get their smut on yet or even kiss is astounding, so proud of myself. hope you all enjoy!


	7. My Oasis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am back!!! Sorry for the late update, I'm back in college for my final year so I was getting used to my class schedule for the semester! As always, sorry for any typos/mistakes, I do not edit my work.

_And I can't pretend_

_I don't want you all_

_'Cause I want you all_

_Oh, babe, I really need you_

_My feelings getting deeper_

_My mind is in a free fall_

_But there's nothing I can do when it comes to you_

_You play with my emotions_

_I'm flowing like the ocean_

_I pray for your devotion_

_\- My Oasis by Sam Smith_

**Lancelot**

He had woken up with his hand intertwined with his own and the feeling of it felt like the most perfect thing in the world. Her’s was much smaller and softer than his, but he was certain it had been made just to fit into his. He didn’t say anything about it to her though, he didn’t want to piss her off. She certainly had a temper, that was for sure! He had just told her about his dream meeting with his mother and her old friend. He puts his sword belt on and attaches the coin pouch to its spot on his hip.

“Time for us to get you a horse,”

“You mean I don’t get to keep Kelpie?”

“You get to keep her over my dead body,” he responds with a smirk. She laughs at his response and follows him as they leave the room they had stayed in. When they get to the stables he asks the stable hand to show they the best horses they had. He made sure to warn the man not to screw with them with an icy glare on his face. Nimue and him find themselves standing in front of two horses. One was a dark dapple grey mare, the other a dark bay gelding with a large blaze down his face. The stable hand told them that the mare had a fearless disposition and a strong build, while the gelding was the fastest he had ever seen, but very gentle.

“Take your pick Nimue,” he says and watches as she begins to examine both horses. After a few moments she strokes the grey on the face, and he smiles when the mare leans into her touch.

“I have a soft spot for the greys” she says to him.

“I can see that!” he replies before paying the man the proper amount, he also inquires if they had any small horses, and the man said he would be back with one that they had. Lancelot figured he might as well try to get a horse for Percival, they would be able to travel better if they all had their own mount instead of doubling up with the boy. While waiting he starts to groom the newly purchased mare so that they could tack her up before bringing her to the inn. Nimue begins to help him. Both of them are quiet for a moment before she speaks up.

“Have you ever been in love?”

“Pretty deep for small talk,” he counters, avoiding having to answer.

She rolls her eyes, “well we aren’t going our separate ways anytime soon, figured I might get to know you better,”

He sighs, “The Ash Folk still have mates, did the Sky folk?”

“Some did have mates, but it had been becoming rarer every generation. Did you find yours?”

He can’t help but bitterly laugh at the irony, “I have found her yes,”

“Then why aren’t you with her, why travel with me?”

“Trust me, she would never have me,”

“What makes you think that?”

“I _butchered_ her people, no matter how much I repent for that sin I don’t think she could set that aside to love me,” he tells her. Gods he wishes he could just tell her it was her. To tell her and beg her to accept him, to want him. He wouldn’t do that to her though, she would need to make the choice herself.

She looks at him with those soft blue eyes of hers, “I think you’re wrong. You seem to be the only thing holding yourself back now. I’ve forgiven you, you just have to forgive yourself now,” she says.

He smiles a bit and nods, “Easier said than done, but I’ll try. Do you love that man-blood I’ve seen with your little group?”

“I thought that I did, if you had asked me last week I would have said yes, but I’m finding that I don’t miss him as much as you should miss the one you love. I’m more worried about my people. I miss my father and best friend, Pym more than I do Arthur. Is that bad?” she asks.

He shrugs, “I’m not the man to ask, I have a mate who is clueless to our bond, and have spent the past decade in the church so that makes for no experience when it comes to relationships,”

She laughs at that and finishes tacking up the horse just as the stable hand appears with a small bay gelding that Lancelot quickly buys for Percival. He leads the smaller horse back to the inn while Nimue leads hers. Percival is waiting outside for them, he starts to pester them right away, stating that they were terrible “parents” since they neglected to check on him before going to buy the horses. Lancelot chooses to ignore him and lets Nimue talk with the boy. They all mount up on their horses and leave Whitehaven behind them to begin their journey to the port city of Blackpool. They travel until midafternoon until they find a nice spot at the edge of the forest with a small lake. Once he gets their bedrolls set up, he lets out a small ball of fire to light the kindling he had arranged for a fire.

He turns to face Nimue, “I think you should start training to use your magic to its full abilities,”

“I don’t have any control over it, I can only use it when I am in danger it seems. Or when I call on the Sword of Power,”

“That damn sword has nothing to do with using your magic. When you called upon it that was _your_ raw power Nimue, the sword just acted as a vehicle for it. Let me teach you,”

She nods her head, “Alright then, what do we start with?”

He thinks for a moment, “why don’t you try to conjure a droplet of water and then increase its size. Fire might be more difficult for you since you have an affinity for magic dealing with nature,”

“Just a droplet? I thought you said I could create storms and harness the lightning if I wanted to?!”

He sighs “Yes, but you currently have no control right now. If you try to do that you most likely will end up frying me,” he pauses for a moment before beginning to instruct her, “now, you _could_ just pull the water from the lake there into your hand and manipulate it, but odds are we won’t always be by a source of water. To create water from nothing, focus on all the components of it, the look, sound, smell, and feel of it. Will it into existence, the raw magic you and I possess will understand to take it’s form,”. He opened the palm of his hand and focused for a moment, thinking through what made the element what it was, and steadily an apple sized ball of water formed in the center of his hand.

“Overachiever!” Nimue says to him as she stares at magic in his hand.

“It’s one of the first things us Ash folk learn how to do when we are around five years old,”

“So you’re comparing me to a five year old?”

“Well… you’re attitude isn’t far off from one,” he quips and she sticks out her tongue at him, further proving his point. He throws the ball of water at her in retaliation and lets out a hearty laugh at her shocked expression that her face was now dripping with water.

“Only way to get back at me is to do it yourself,” he says with a shrug.

**Nimue**

Lancelot was _so_ dead. Well as soon as she figured out how to create water and throw some in his own face, then he would be _so_ dead. Speaking with his mother the previous night must have allowed him to forgive himself a bit because the man standing in front of her now was very different. Still as lethal and wild as before, but there was an ease to him now, even a playfulness. She found that she enjoyed his company instead of resenting it. She opens her palm, closes her eyes and focuses on all the things that make water what it is.

“Why the fuck are your eyes closed? How are you going to know where to direct the magic if you can’t see where the hell your enemy is!” he growls at her. She quickly opens her eyes and he gives a curt nod to try again. Just as she was thinking he was becoming more mellow… guess it was warrior Lancelot who was training her, not her sarcastic friend. She reaches into the magic within her and tries to force it to take the form of water. The green tendrils creep up her neck and cheeks and she feels a rush of power surge through her. She forest around her sings to her, begging her to use the strength in it to control it’s vines and branches. She still can’t feel control over the power as she gives everything she has into willing it into any amount of water.

“Nothing? Is that all the wolf blood witch has got?” she hears Lancelot taunt at her and anger starts to fill her. Why was he being such an ass? So far he made a pretty shit teacher, she wanted to yell back at him but decided proving him wrong would be more satisfying. She lets out a huff and draws deeper within her power, it almost feels like it rears it’s head at her, refusing to bend to her will. Vines start to burst up from the ground, and Lancelot clicks his tongue at her.

“I asked for water, not plants darling,” he says and shoots out small streams of fire to burn the vines as they broke the surface, “god it’s a miracle the Fae even escaped with you leading them, like the blind leading the blind,” he adds. At that her anger reaches a new height. He can insult her all he wants, but he doesn’t get to insult her people. For the first time ever she tames her magic. It is her wielding it, not the other way around. She holds both her hands up and a wall of water, at least twelve feet high and equally as wide is under her control, and in her rage she hurls it at Lancelot. A wall of red hot flames collides with her magic and it hisses away, filling the area around them with steam. She feels the vines along her face retreat back and she is very aware of the fact that she tried to drown Lancelot.

“Lancelot, I am so sorry, I don’t know what came over me! I told you I don’t have control over it,” she begins to babble on. His hand clamps over her mouth as he backs her up against the large tree behind her. There is a feral smile on his face, almost as if he was proud of her.

“Are you finished,” he asks in a low voice. She nods her head once at him and he moves his hand to rest on the tree bark on the side of her head.

“That was not lack of control, that was total control. Sorry that I had to push your buttons, but anger seems to be your trigger so I just did what I had to. Tell me Nimue, can you feel that the magic is at your beck and call now?” he asks. She takes a second to reach at the magic and can feel it willing and waiting to be used. Her eyes widen in surprise and she looks at him.

“I can feel it now! It no longer feels like I have to wish for it to appear and that it just won’t sometimes. How did you know that would work?” she ask him in awe.

“Old family secret of mine. Magic is wild and ruthless, you have to break it in order for it to be wielded properly. Yours is unlike anything I have ever seen, it’s the exact opposite of my own. I always had control of mine, it is cautious, calculating almost. Yours is… well you are… wicked and mysterious” he starts, and suddenly she is very aware of how close together their faces are. His smoky cedar and vanilla scent fills the space around her, “I feel enchanted by you, I crave to know everything about you,” he adds, his voice a whisper. His face has moved even closer. She can feel the hum of both their magic around them as the two powers clash and explore each other.

She smirks at him, “if I enchant you then maybe I am a witch as they all claim,”

He hums in agreement, “must be,” he replies before he closes the gap between them. Her eyes close, and just as their lips brush against each other, Percival approaches from camp,

“Are you done training for today? I want Lancelot to teach me how to fight with a sword! Plus I’m starving and you two have been here for hours,” he whines at them as he comes into view. Nimue opens her eyes and Lancelot’s form is no longer trapping her against the tree. She feels like Squirrel might as well have shoved her right into the lake with how quickly the heat and desire left her at hearing his voice. But gods, she can still feel the ghost of Lancelot’s lips, and she is fueled by the need to feel their full force. As he walks to meet Squirrel he looks back at her with a shy smile as if he was nervous of what her reaction would be to what just happened. She gives him a smile back and at that whatever nerves he felt must have dissolved because he had the audacity to wink at her. He WINKED. That little piece of shit. But by the gods the way her stomach flipped at that wink. She was just as enchanted with him as he was with her. She knew this meant she was completely and utterly, screwed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all enjoyed, I had a lot of fun writing this chapter ;)


	8. Holy

**Lancelot**

After teaching Percival how to better wield a sword, and giving some tips to Nimue as well, Lancelot found himself silent as they ate dinner. Luckily this didn’t cause any sort of awkward environment since Percival was content to monopolize the conversation by telling stories, all Lancelot had to do was hum in interest at certain moments. He couldn’t tell you what the boy had been telling him if his life depended on it, he was too caught up thinking about the kiss he had shared with Nimue. Could it even be called a kiss when it only lasted a fraction of a second? As he settled down for first watch he couldn’t stop the scowl that crossed his face. Father Cardin would be so disappointed in him. How could he give into carnal desires like that? It was not what God would have wanted, it made him more of a sinner than Father already said he was. He glances over at the now sleeping figure of Nimue. This was all her fault, he was a faithful servant before she was thrown into his life by the Hidden. He shakes his head at himself. No, it wasn’t her fault, it was his. It was always his fault, his damn cursed Fae heritage was the reason he was straying from the faith that was so ingrained in him. He looks up at the sky and curses God and the Hidden, cursed them both for causing this strife within him. His instincts were telling him to go against all the doctrines that Cardin had taught him, but those teachings were all he knew. When it came time to switch watch he walked over to Nimue and gently called her name to rouse her, making sure not to make contact with her like he had the previous nights. She seemed a bit confused by his actions, but he didn’t offer her an explanation or any words for that matter. He simply lied down near Percival and closed his eyes, letting sleep take over him, and allowing Nimue to draw her own conclusions.

His dream was not as pleasant as the one he had in the inn the previous night. Tonight Father Cardin haunted him. Ridiculing him for lusting after the woman he had been trained to kill, claiming he had turned his back on God. He had cried out that it wasn’t true, just that maybe there was more to faith than they thought. Both ideals could be right, couldn’t they? Father had sneered at him then, saying that he had let the witch corrupt him, forcing him to stray from the path God planned for him. Nimue appeared out of thin air suddenly, in shackles that Cardin had put on her. The rest of the dream he had been forced to kill her over and over again, and he woke in the morning with tears burning in his eyes. He composes himself quickly and tries to figure out why he had woken up. Nimue hadn’t woken him, since she had drifted asleep on her own watch. He rolls his eyes at this, it seems the girl had almost no survival instincts at all besides her unruly magic. He hones in on the sound of hoofbeats nearing, far enough that a human wouldn’t be able to hear, but too close to make a safe escape. From the number of horses he could hear walking, he believed it was a group of five men. He takes a second to focus on their conversation to try and discern who they were. _Shit_ thinks to himself, they are Paladins. He had minutes to try and pull together a plan since running wouldn’t be possible. He wakes Percival first and whispers to fill him in. The boy manages to hatch a plan in mere moments, and it’s a brilliant one at that. Following the plan he had been told he binds the young boy's hands with rope behind his back. He quickly moves to wake Nimue as the sound of the Paladins drew closer. His wake up call wasn’t exactly welcoming as he just harshly pulled her arms behind her and bound her, clamping his hand over her mouth when she went to scream like a banshee at him. He grits his teeth in pain as she bites down on his hand. Fae have abnormally sharp canines when in a defensive mode, so her bite cleanly pierces his skin. He ignores the sharp burning sensation and whirls her around to face him.

“ _Trust me,”_ he sneers at her. His eyes must have conveyed the severity of the situation since she settled down and that wild look left her face. Once Squirrel stops laughing at the fact that Nimue just bit him, he whispers to her what was going on as Lancelot steps out of the woods onto the path to greet his former brothers. They stop in their tracks a few paces from him, recognizing him immediately. He prays to God (and the Hidden) that they hadn’t heard the news of his betrayal, he really didn’t want to leave a pile of bodies in their wake. They needed to move as inconspicuously as possible so that the rest of the Trinity would not find them yet.

“Brothers! What brings you here?” he calls out in greeting

“So the famous monk can actually speak? I would ask you the same question as it seems you escaped the attack that left your master dead,” the paladin in front replies. It takes every ounce of his patience not to hurl a dagger at the man’s chest as he hated it when the Paladins would refer to him as Cardin’s “pet”.

“Aye I did, but not without a prize,” he says and pulls on the rope he held to pull Nimue and Percival out from the edge of the forest, “caught the wolf blood witch herself,” he adds, making sure he sounded as disinterested as he always had when he was the Paladins weapon.

“You sure that’s her? Because we heard that this small girl, who looked no older than that boy there, had killed the bitch by shooting her off a waterfall,” one of the other men pipes up to say that.

“Yeah, that’s what we all heard! They made her one of the Trinity Guard, Sister Iris,”

Lancelot smirks, “well maybe Sister Iris should make sure her victims are actually dead before proclaiming her kill to the Pope. Quite sloppy of a Trinity Guard, but don’t worry brothers, I plan on bringing the witch to the Holy one myself. Unlike the Sister, I follow through,” he says.

The lead man narrows his eyes “prove it,” is all he says. Lancelot huffs before grabbing Nimue’s arm and forcing it onto the ground, letting the Paladins see the green leaf mark that appears on her hand.

“That proves that she is Fae, not that she is the wolf blood witch,” the man adds with a satisfied smirk on his face. Clearly, he did not know Lancelot’s reputation well, his companions did as they shifted in their saddles uncomfortably at the accusation toward the Monk.

“I was Father Cardin’s most trusted servant, and I was the one who tracked down all of the Fae villages so we could show them God’s will, and you’re trying to say that I am wrong?” Lancelot challenges. The man goes to make some inevitably snarky response, but Lancelot sends a dagger whirling past his head, searing part of the man’s ear off. He yells in pain and clutches the side of his head.

“Next time, I won’t miss,” he threatens.

The man stays quiet after that, but one of the others asks if they can camp with them for a few hours just to rest, then they would be on their way. Lancelot has no choice but to accept, even though the idea puts him on edge. He hadn’t planned for this. He wasn’t even sure if they could keep up the ruse for that length of time, plus it would be unfair to his “prisoners”. He leads the Paladins back to their little camp and he loosely ties Nimue and Squirrel up to the trunk of a large tree a few paces off from the center where they had slept. As he finishes the ties he shoots them both an apologetic glance before he leaves to sit with the Paladins. As he joins his “brothers” he offers them some of the meat they had from last night’s catch, which they gladly accept. It doesn’t take long before their curiosity gets the better of them and one of them starts to ask him questions.

“Why keep the boy? Would just be easier to kill him, we could do that now, would be quite fun!”

“No! He is just a boy,” Lancelot growls.

“Yes, but a _Fae_ boy,” interjects the man he had hurled a dagger at earlier.

“Nobody will be killing the boy. I may not be like him, but Father Cardin once showed me God’s mercy when I was the boy's age. I wish to do the same, he can be shown the path to redemption,” he says to them. That seems to satisfy them as they all nod their heads in subtle agreement. Lancelot breathes a short sigh of relief, and out of the corner of his eye he can see Percival smiling widely. If Nimue wasn’t going to be the death of him, it would be that boy. That damn boy who reminded him so much of the boy he could have been had life gone a bit differently. One day when Percival was older, he would make sure to thank him for helping him find his way back to himself, to his people, but he wasn’t quite ready yet.

Two hours pass easily and Lancelot finds himself enjoying the company of the men. The familiar feeling of the conversations they had made him realize why it had been so easy to stay with the Paladins for as long as he did. The one he had argued with, however, made him feel uneasy. He feared that he didn’t buy Lancelot’s story for one second, and the man would be willing to try anything to prove the Monk wrong. His fears proved to be right when the Paladins were preparing themselves to leave and the man approached the tree that Nimue and Squirrel were tied to. He undid the tie to let Nimue loose, and roughly dragged her over to a tree closer to the other Paladins and bound her to that one, leaving her standing. Nimue was spewing curses at the man from the moment he touched her, and Lancelot couldn’t stop himself from asking, “what are you doing with _my_ prisoner?” One of the problems with male Fae’s is that they are extremely possessive of females under their protection, especially their mates.

“We’re brother my dear Monk, what’s yours is ours,” the man replies as he runs his hand down Nimue’s cheek, “when I spent time with Father Cardin, he told me that we could do whatever we wanted with the Fae before disposing of them. I don’t plan on letting you take the wolf blood witch away from me before I get the chance to fuck her first,” he adds as he rips the top of Nimue’s gown away from her body. Her feisty spirit seems frozen in fear as tears just begin to roll down her face. Lancelot blood boils and his whole body trembles in anger. He reaches the man in two strides and tackles him to the ground before wrapping his hands around his throat. The other Paladins are calling out to him to stop, to show him Mercy, but Lancelot barely hears them. This man didn’t deserve to call himself a servant of God. He deserved to rot in hell for the vile thing he had planned on doing to Nimue, to _his_ Nimue. The man claws at his arms and face, desperate for air that Lancelot won’t grant him. He increases the strength of his grip and hears a sickening crack of the bones in the man’s neck, and his arms fall limp at his side. He wordlessly wraps his cloak around Nimue before looking at the four other Paladins. They stared at him, afraid to move as if they would face the fate of their companion. The marks on his face burn hot, glowing as an expression of his anger and the men seem to realize that the Weeping Monk was far from human.

One tries to be bond and reaches for his sword to attack, but searing hot flames shoot out from Lancelot’s hands, turning the man into nothing but a pile of ash. Two try to flee to their horses, he uses his magic to pull the air from one of their lungs, letting the man suffocate. The other is ripped apart by vines reaching from the ground, Nimue seeming to chime in with an attack of her own. The last falls to his knees in front of Lancelot, begging to be spared. He takes the kneeling man’s face in his hands and set’s his fingertips ablaze, burning the mark he wore under his own eyes, the mark of his people, onto the man’s face.

“You’re going to run away from here until you find more Red Paladins or the fucking Pope for all I care, and you’re going to tell them that the Fae Queen lives, and the Weeping Monk is bond to her by blood. Tell them that they will pay for the slaughter of the Ash Folk, and the Sky Folk. And if you find Sister Iris, tell her that I will be hunting her down personally, and that no matter how far she runs I will still find her,” he growls as the man whimpers in pain from the brand he left. He scurries away from Lancelot onto the nearest horses and kicks it into a gallop far away from them. He turns to face Nimue, who was trying to retie the back of her dress on but failing. He carefully helps her and makes eye contact with her for the first time since he tried to kiss her.

“Are you alright?” he asks even though he knows it is probably a foolish question.

“We aren’t talking about it here or now, we need to make it to Blackpool by nightfall,” is all she offers him in reply.

**Nimue**

Lancelot’s attitude over the course of the morning and afternoon confused and terrified Nimue and she wasn’t sure which emotion was stronger. He had ignored her the rest of the previous night after he was the one to try and kiss her, then he spent the entire afternoon being buddies with the Paladins. Squirrel had explained the situation and plan to her, but she couldn’t help but notice how at ease he was with their enemy. How simple it was for him to fall back into the role he had played for so many years, it worried her quickly he could make that shift. How could she trust him after seeing him like this? Then there was his reaction when the one Paladin suggested he was going to rape her. Lancelot absolutely lost control, killing each man easily as if it were a game, as if he _enjoyed_ making them suffer for what they wanted to do to her. It was a clear display of pure Fae instinct, but she couldn’t make sense as to why he would be so protective over her. Yes, they had very briefly kissed but they had just been caught up in the moment… right? He seemed to still harbor feelings of loathing toward her, or at least she thought he did. And he knew that she was somewhat with Arthur. Oh her poor Arthur. She can’t help but feel guilty because she knows had Squirrel not marched up to them in that moment that she wouldn’t have stopped Lancelot. In fact, she craved him. More and more each day it seemed. She used her magic to pull the bodies of the dead Paladins within the earth so no one would find them. They mounted their horse and began the trip to Blackpool. Lancelot still didn’t speak directly to her the entire ride there. What the hell was his problem? Why did his behavior toward her shift faster than the wind could? Luckily Squirrel carried most of the conversation yet again, in awe of how Lancelot used his powers and making him quiz him over the sword fighting tips he had learned the previous night.

They reach the port city right as the sun began to set. They managed to secure passage on a ship to the desert kingdoms right before it was set to leave. Squirrel was directed to one of the cabins where the children were staying, the horses were stabled on board the ship, and Lancelot and Nimue soon found themselves alone in their own cabin. What the hell was with these places and only having one room left? They are sitting on opposite sides of the cabin when she can no longer stand the silence between them.

“What is wrong with you?” She says with a huff. He seems startled by her sudden speaking and glances up from the map he was looking at.

“I don’t know what you mean,”

“So you’re going to pretend that you didn’t try to kiss me the other night? Or that you haven’t been ignoring me all day? Or that you didn’t lose your shit trying to protect me?”

He looks down at the ground in shame, “it isn’t easy for me to explain, I didn’t mean it,” he replies

“Didn’t mean what? The kiss?” she asks, “look we can pretend it never happened and you can go back to hating me all you want,” she adds, her anger growing by the second.

His eyes snap up to meet hers and a hurt look crosses his voice, “God Nimue, I don’t hate you,” he says his voice more hoarse than normal, thick with genuine sadness, “I could never hate you,” he adds.

“Then what is it, because I don’t understand,” she asks exasperated. Why did she feel so emotional over him? So desperate for his affection that she was nearly in tears over the idea that he despised her.

“It was wrong of me to kiss you, to desire you, even though my instincts are telling me to it is wrong!” he tells her hanging his head in shame, “But it was more wrong of me to ignore you as I did, it’s very difficult to try and change as suddenly as I have been,”

A bit of understanding sets in as she realizes that his time with the Paladins had convinced him that intimacy was wrong. “It doesn’t have to be wrong. Not everything they told you is true, it’s ok to follow your instincts, no one will punish you,” she says to him as she crosses the small cabin to stand in front of him. She carefully takes his hand and is relieved when he doesn’t pull away, “it’s alright to want things,” she adds. His other hand reaches up to rest on her waist as if to prevent her from moving further away.

“What do you want Lancelot?” she asks him, her voice a whisper.

His pale blue eyes stare into her own, “you.”


End file.
